


who could ever leave me darling, but who could stay?

by abovethethroat



Series: autistic peter parker [2]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Autism, Autism Spectrum, Autistic Peter Parker, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Disability, Disabled peter parker, Dissociation, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Iron Dad, Meltdown, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Sensory Deprivation, Sensory Overload, Tony Stark Has A Heart, asd, spiderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22944922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovethethroat/pseuds/abovethethroat
Summary: Peter has struggled with his fear of abandonment ever since he can remember. He can't shake the feeling that everyone he's close to is going to get tired of his issues, that they're going to get sick of him always needing help with things. He knows they're all going to leave at some point.
Series: autistic peter parker [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1408387
Comments: 52
Kudos: 323





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The next part of this series is finally up! The amount of love I've received on the first fic is incredible, and I just can't thank you lovelies enough <3333

They love him, they both do. They love him to the moon and back, hell, they'd go to fucking  _ Pluto _ for him. And Peter knows this. So why is he fixating on the idea that both Mister Stark and aunt May will one day get tired of his shit, that they'll leave him all alone and scared?

May knows he's afraid of abandonment, that this is something he's struggled with since the very beginning. When she met him for the first time, all pink and brand new to the world, he wouldn't let go of her blouse, and as soon as she tried to pry his little newborn baby hands away from the fabric, he wouldn't stop crying.

The death of his parents was a god damn low blow, and there are long gaps in his memory whenever he tries to remember what it was like to sleep his first night in not-his-parents' bed, sandwiched between the two familiar people who'd take care of him from then on. He doesn't remember the funeral, doesn't remember mourning. He thinks that maybe he _ didn't, _ and just soared up to someplace higher where things weren't so confusing and scary all the time. Somewhere where he wasn’t aware of anything. Peter scrolls through the memories stored in his head like a roll of film, or opening files on a computer. Or maybe it's more like reading and seeing the story unfold in his mind, except large chunks are whited out or marked as _ [redacted]. _

Peter doesn't remember much of his uncle's passing, either, only that there was a gun involved somehow and that it will  _ always be his fault, _ that is one thing he's certain of. And, alright, three people close to him dying in the span of five years is a lot to deal with, especially on top of having issues in daily life. _ Have you eaten breakfast, Peter? Do you know what you're going to wear today or do you want me to help check the weather and pick out something appropriate? Do I need to get your lap weight or are you okay with just the vest? _ There are quite a few things that other kids don't need help with that he often forgets or can't do. But he pushes on, and doesn't let Flash get to him with the slurs and taunts and mean imitations. Peter knows deep down that his worth isn't determined by how well he pretends to be just like everyone else, but he sometimes finds himself wondering what it would be like if things were different. If  _ he _ were different.

Mister Stark doesn’t take his role as Peter’s extra caregiver lightly. Another protocol  _ (Spider Safety Net) _ has been added to the ridiculously smart and stimmy watch the kid wears on his wrist to track stats like heart rate elevation and how oxygenated his blood is, to ensure the AI on Tony’s end alerts him when they might have to get ready for a  _ situation.  _ During instances when the watch pings, Peter gets guided through breathing exercises  _ (in, pause, out, repeat) _ by Karen until he’s grounded again, or if things escalate, until Mister Stark gets there to assist with a more hands-on approach. Sure, May’s great and all, but she sometimes treats Peter like he’s fragile.  _ I hate it.  _ He tries not to be too upset by that because she’s just doing the best she can, and who wouldn’t be afraid of fucking up if their nephew could dissocoate violently at any moment? Somewhere inside him, there’s a little nagging voice that tells him  _ she can only take so much, she’ll have to leave eventually. For her own sake. _

Much like his original plan with the accidental self harm, Peter isn’t planning on letting Mister Stark  _ know  _ about this either, that he’s doubting that anyone could stay close to him when he’s  _ like this.  _ It’s entirely a slip up when the two of them are lazily watching Kitchen Nightmares one night at the tower when he’s sleeping over for the weekend. Or, Tony’s watching, whereas Peter is nestled in his mentor’s lap with his eyes closed, enjoying the pressure on his chest from the weighted vest as it tightens with every inhale.  _ This is nice,  _ he thinks as hands are carded through his hair, and he hums for a bit.  _ Too bad it isn’t going to last.  _ He’s not really aware that he’s saying it out loud until the man stiffens underneath him, and Peter thinks that his mouth sure is a filthy  _ traitor  _ for not letting him have this secret.  _ Why can’t I just get to have this one thing to myself? I share almost everything else with people, so if this is the little sliver of privacy that’s available, why can’t I just  _ have  _ it? _

Mister Stark can probably tell that he’s clamming up as he usually does when there’s something he doesn’t want to talk about. “Now why would you say that? What does that even mean?” Peter  _ knows  _ that he’s going to buckle and tell him anyway. He just wants a few moments more to pretend that keeping things from his sort-of-almost-dad doesn’t make his insides churn. He gets a  _ poke  _ from a finger to the side. “Petey.”  _ Poke.  _ “Squirt.”  _ Poke.  _ “Underoos.”  _ Poke-poke.  _ Peter can’t help but crack a smile into the crook of his own elbow, making a poor attempt at hiding it. 

The body underneath him rumbles as Mister Stark chuckles. “I know you. You’re going to go all weekend thinking that you should tell me whatever it is, then you’ll try talking yourself into not saying a peep, and then you’ll end up telling me anyway. All that’s going to get you is a less fun sleepover and an express ticket to-, I don’t know, someplace where there’s lots of anxiety. Worry Town.” He winces. “Not my best analogy, I admit, but the point was made. Now let’s circle back; ‘it isn’t going to last,’ what do you mean by that? If that’s your way of saying that you’re hungry and I need to stop petting your head like a dog and make you a stir fry, then that’s no problem.”

Peter’s stomach makes a sound at that, and  _ shit, I think I actually am hungry.  _ He sits up next to Tony. “You offering to cook?” he asks lightly, giving himself some extra time to sift through the words in his mind while Tony replies that of course he will, only the best for the best. When Tony goes quiet again and makes a point of,  _ thankfully,  _ not looking at the kid as to not rush him or make him more nervous than he already is, Peter decides that he should probably just bite the bullet  _ (who even came up with that expression? Like, that sounds so gross! Who wants a mouth full of metal?)  _ and tell the truth about how he feels. Deep down, where all his logical thinking seems to be these days, he knows that his mentor’s going to give him a long list of reasons as to why no one’s going to go anywhere and none of the others view him in a different light after finding out about the diagnosis. But (and here’s the scary part)  _ what if Mister Stark  _ doesn’t  _ say that?  _ What if he’s been right all along and the  _ thing  _ that’s been with him since birth is proving to pull the whole team down, and no one really wants to put up with him but they also don’t want to  _ say  _ that? 

“Hey, earth to spider?”  _ Pat, pat, pat.  _ “You with me, buddy? Do I need to tighten the velcro straps on the vest?” Peter shakes his head,  _ no.  _ “Alright, then it’s the anxiety making you space out a bit? Are you afraid that I’m not going to like what you have to say? What’s going through that head of yours?” Peter squirms. He takes a deep breath in and holds it for as long as he can.  _ Mister Stark won’t like this, but neither will I.  _ He croaks out “none of this will last” again followed by “everyone will leave me”, and he  _ swears  _ he’s floating above his own body for a minute, frantically grabbing onto Tony for dear life.

“Take it easy, buddy, I’ve got you. You’re not floating into space because I’m tethering you. I’m right here with you. Take as long as you need.” He tries to hug his sensory vest tighter to his chest but there’s this  _ buzzing  _ underneath his skin that’s spreading, and there are fucking  _ ants  _ walking in his vision. He’s distantly aware that someone’s humming a melody, and decides to focus on that, maybe it’ll help.

Blinking awake, Peter takes in his surroundings.  _ The shadows have moved. I fell asleep?  _ He tries thinking back to before, to what happened, but he can’t remember. Did he dissociate fully? Did he do any damage this time? He wriggles around a bit on the sofa, because surely that should hurt if that were the case? “Huh,” he says to no one in particular. Nothing’s injured. That must mean he never passed the point of no return, that Mister Stark managed to make him calm down and fall asleep before anything else could happen. “Mister Stark?” he whispers, because maybe he’s asleep too? Now that Peter thinks about it, there’s the delicious smell of bacon and eggs wafting through the door that’s slightly ajar. He checks his watch, because surely he can’t have slept until the next morning? The time shows 7:09pm, so he’s only been out for thirty minutes or so.

He kicks off the fluffy blanket that’s been strewn over his sleeping form, wraps it around himself anew, and tip toes through the door out into the hallway leading to the rest of the floor.  _ Shit, the floor is cold!  _ Maybe he should turn back and put on some socks before going any farther? Nah. His stomach is starting to hurt pretty bad from hunger at this point, and he’d rather get that sorted out first. Of course Mister Stark has installed heated floors everywhere in the building, but Peter’s always cold anyway. His extremities are always  _ just  _ on the wrong side of chilly, and once he’s gotten there it’s a bitch for him to get warm again. Sometimes when he’s getting out of the shower and doesn’t dry off fast enough, he gets so cold that the muscles around the insides of his elbows and knees tense up, and he can’t stretch the limbs out fully without being in pain. Oh, the joy of being  _ sensitive.  _

“Look who’s finally up!” Tony exclaims as Peter sits down on a stool by the kitchen counter, holding onto the edges to make sure he doesn’t topple over. “I know it can be very overwhelming when you start to float, so I figured we do the stir fry tomorrow, and tuck into some bacon and eggs for now.” Peter feels warm inside, because Mister Stark  _ knows.  _ He notices little details like this one and actually cares enough to change his plans in order to make Peter more comfortable.  _ Yeah, okay, this’ll still both my hunger and worry for now.  _ “I made sure the bacon’s not too crunchy and the eggs are sunny side up and runny, just the way you like ‘em, kiddo. Tuck in, you must be ravenous.”

He sticks his arms out from under the blanket and starts piercing the unsuspecting bacon with his fork. Just as promised, the bacon’t bendy enough that it doesn’t break when he stabs it.  _ Perfect.  _ They eat their dinner in comfortable silence, only broken after Tony rinses off their plates and places them in the dishwasher. “I just want you to know, kid, I’m sorry that talking about certain things with me makes you this anxious.” He squeezes their hands together.  _ Nice pressure.  _ “I know it’s weighing on you and that you need to talk about it, and that I might be too  _ close  _ for you to feel comfortable telling me.” Peter opens his mouth to apologize, because it  _ has  _ to be his fault, right? These are  _ his  _ problems, and  _ he  _ is causing stress to the people he cares about. Mister Stark holds up a hand, as if knowing exactly what he’s about to say.  _ He probably does.  _ “Let me just stop you right there. You don’t need to say sorry for this, because there’s nothing to be sorry  _ for.” _

“But I-,” he tries again, and he’s once again interrupted. Tony lets him know that there’s apparently someone else he should talk to, someone who understands things better. Now those words send a new tendril of dread through Peter, because he doesn’t want to talk to some stranger. He’s never been good at talking to the people he  _ knows,  _ so how’s this going to work out? “It’s not going to be a stranger,” Mister Stark explains. “The one person on this team that could possibly relate to your episodes, even a  _ little bit,  _ is Bucky Barnes.” 

“That’s-, that’s a  _ joke,  _ right, Mister Stark?” Peter replies. He’s hesitant. “Mister Barnes was  _ made  _ to do awful things and forget them. I’m just-. I-, I float away and do awful, horrible things because I’m  _ defective.  _ Not even the spider bite could fix that so I guess I’m just going to be like this forever.  _ He  _ could have it removed.” Once again, the silence stretches out between them, but this time it doesn’t feel comfortable. More tense. Mister Stark speaks; “‘It’, as you say, was  _ brainwashing,  _ Peter. You’re not brainwashed.”

“Well  _ something  _ messed up is going on inside my brain anyway, no matter what you want to call it,” is Peter’s reply. It’s almost like that sentence flicks a switch, and Mister Stark gets a look of determination on his face. “That’s it, we’re going downstairs to talk to Buckster. And Cap, too, because maybe he can talk some additional sense into you. Gently, of course. With  _ diplomacy.”  _ Tony taps out a string of text on his phone, probably telling Steve that the two of them are coming down to their floor to talk;  _ it’s set in stone now.  _ He realizes that there’s no point in fighting this, he’s going to have to have this talk with  _ someone  _ anyway, and it might as well be with people who aren’t strangers. “Fine.”

When they step out of the elevator a few minutes later,  _ still nervous,  _ Peter’s assured that both Bucky and Steve have been briefed on how to behave, just to be safe, and they’re apparently ‘very excited’ to meet him, in Tony’s words.  _ I can not believe that two of my heroes are excited to meet me! I hope I don’t screw this up too much, I have to focus on my words and gestures carefully. Oh, and eye contact. Can’t forget that. Otherwise they might think I’m even  _ weirder  _ than they do already. _

“Hey, grandpa,” Tony exclaims. To Peter’s amusement,  _ both  _ Bucky and Steve respond to that by turning towards them, and he snickers a bit. “A little bird tells me that the three of you should have a chat. Don’t mind me, I’m just here as moral support for the spiderling.” The four of them greet each other casually, and settle down on the two sofas facing each other. Peter’s nervous, and says so. Admitting that out loud gets him a fond look from Mister Stark, and it’s good that he can do  _ something  _ right, at least. “I don’t really-, um, I don’t know what to say. Or where to start,” he says.

He carefully meets Steve’s eyes, and is both relieved and surprised to find that there’s no pity in his gaze. There’s only warmth, and an openness that makes him feel like he can actually  _ ask  _ things. Deciding that there’s no time like the present, Peter speaks. “Mister Rogers, Captain-, uh,  _ sir?  _ I was wondering if-, before the serum, I mean, if you ever felt like you weren’t who you could be? Like. Did you wonder what things could have been like if you weren’t  _ limited?”  _

Steve smiles at him a bit wistfully. “You can call me Steve, Peter. There’s no need for titles.”  _ A chuckle.  _ “But to answer your question; yes. The version you’ve probably come by once or twice, the most obvious one, is that I forged my enlistment papers over and over again because I had so many health issues that no one would take me. A soldier with scoliosis, partial deafness and chronic fever was obviously not sought after. Even though that was disheartening, it didn’t haunt me as much as the everyday things. The  _ little  _ things. 

“Every time I climbed the stairs to my apartment I had to sit down right afterward because I’d faint. Getting pneumonia so bad I was on the brink of death at least once a year wasn’t great either. There were so many things that I couldn’t do and  _ of course  _ I found myself wishing things could be different sometimes, but that wasn’t really an option at the time. I felt like I was caged in by my own body, like it was never enough. The fact that I can sit with my back straight now and don’t have to drink  _ liver juice  _ to help with the anemia is really remarkable.” They all make an  _ ugh  _ sound at the mention of liver. “But I also had great people around to help me through it all.”

Steve gently elbows Bucky in the side, and now it’s  _ his  _ turn to speak. “Aren’t you a  _ sap,  _ Rogers.” He laughs a bit. “It’s true that I helped out when we were growing up, but to be fair, I remember it more as me having to stop this stubborn bastard from doing literally  _ anything,  _ because that was the same guy that used to fall over when it was slightly windy outside, so.” He gets another jab in the side, with Steve hissing a ‘now  _ why  _ would you tell them that,’ before actually getting serious. “But to be completely honest here, I never felt like I was quote-unquote taking care of him like a caregiver. Sure, he sometimes had such bad fever spells that he was hallucinating, and the bouts of hypothermia and heart arrhythmia really had me calling the priest quite a few times because I was so sure he wouldn’t make it. But that’s just how it  _ was;  _ my childhood friend was in poor health and I was there for him. It was stressful and I kept waking up in cold sweat from nightmares of him dying, but I had to show up for him to make sure that never  _ happened.”  _

Peter briefly thinks that must’ve gotten old pretty fast, that he  _ must  _ have thought about letting someone else do the heavy lifting at least once. But then he remembers that  _ this is Steve Rogers we’re talking about, no one would leave him.  _ “But,” Bucky goes on, breaking Peter out of his sort-of shame spiral. “Spending time with Steve when he had limitations in places where others could continue full steam ahead, that was never something I saw as a chore. I  _ knew  _ what the rest of the world saw when they looked at him. At us. People felt sorry for me because I was ‘obligated’ to spend my time with someone ‘like that.’ They never understood that to me, he was  _ just Steve.  _ The silly, funny, infuriatingly stubborn person I’d always known, and he just so happened to be disabled. It wasn’t the be-all end-all they tried to make it out to be.”

The room goes quiet again, and Peter takes a moment to absorb everything he’s just heard. Bucky then pulls up his left sleeve, revealing a sliver of his metal arm. Apart from that brief stint in Germany, he’s never seen the arm up close before. “Nowadays,” Bucky says, “I’m the disabled one out of the two of us. So many things have happened since we were kids in Brooklyn, with serums, war, and unethical experiments and whatnot.” He pulls the sleeve back down again, and looks at it with something that the kid can only describe as  _ longing.  _ “I’m not sure if I can ask this, Mister Barnes? But-, do you miss it? Your old arm?”

The man takes a moment to think about it. “When I first came back to myself after being the Asset for so long, I was really really sad and upset. I woke up a clean slate in a completely changed world, and a physical part of  _ me  _ was changed as well.” He flexes and unflexes his left hand a few times. “I was missing some functionality with the Russian hardware. I could do almost nothing without pain, since HYDRA never cared about if I was comfortable or not, which meant that I  _ really  _ needed to get a better version if I wanted to get any use out of it.”

Peter pipes up, “Did you get it fixed?”

The man nods. “I still can not thank Stark enough for replacing the old hunk of metal with this, clearly superior, nanotech prosthetic. Especially since we’ve got...quite the history between us.” Mister Stark nods at him, recognizing the words silently, but also urging Mister Barnes to go on. “But I won’t lie to you and say it was an easy process. The nerves I’ve still got left in my shoulder were connected to the arm, so the surgeons had to somehow keep those intact while removing the old arm, and then connect them correctly with the new one. I was in an extreme amount of pain for a while before I could even  _ start  _ the rehabilitation process, and even  _ then,  _ I had to learn everything all over again from scratch.” He pauses, and picks up a pen from the table with his metal hand. “This pen that I just picked up? It looks like a minor thing, being able to do that, but it took me  _ months  _ of physical therapy and Captain Spangly Pants nagging to get me to that point.”

“I want to put it out there,” Steve cuts in, “that Bucky was being a little brat for that whole process,  _ especially  _ when he couldn’t lift the triangle peg into the right hole or grip a ping pong ball. The nagging was  _ solely  _ for my own benefit, because I wanted the hellscape to end so I could  _ rest.”  _ They all chuckle again.

“But the point I wanted to make with telling you all of this about my arm,” Bucky speaks again, “is that I lost my limb, and then regained functionality by amazing engineering and rigorous physical therapy. And Steve, don’t get me started on  _ him.  _ I am honestly amazed that he actually survived for that long before meeting Erskine in such poor health. But  _ you?  _ Peter, there’s nothing  _ wrong  _ with you. Nothing’s missing.”

“But, but I-, I’m-,” Peter tries to object, because  _ there is something wrong with me! I can’t even get this sentence out, isn’t that proof enough?  _ He flails a bit and looks over at Tony with panic stricken eyes. He wants to convey that to his mentor so that  _ he  _ can say it, but all three of the men sitting around him seem just as confused. He growls, and  _ of course,  _ of course he can do  _ that,  _ but not speak. 

Tony seems to catch on when the kid makes a little wounded sound at the back of his throat, the same one he usually uses when there’s something he can’t verbalize.  _ “Oh,”  _ he exclaims as he puts the pieces together, and looks apologetically at Peter. “I’m sorry I didn’t get what you meant at first, kid. What Peter is trying to say, even if I don’t agree with it, is that he’s gone nonverbal, and that we should apparently add that to the pile of things that make him ‘defective,’ as he’d put it.”

“And this-, not being able to get words out, it’s part of the diagnosis, correct?” Steve asks, and Mister Stark replies that yes, it can be, but it depends entirely on the individual. The other two men just nod as if it isn’t that big of a deal, as if it isn’t a curse. Peter knows that they can claim it’s all fine and dandy now, when they don’t actually know that much about this. About the  _ ugliness  _ that always lurks so close to the surface.  _ If they knew just how fucked up my brain truly is and what it makes me  _ do,  _ they’d want me off the team immediately. I’m just a liability for everyone, a ticking bomb.  _ Or maybe they’ve actually been told about  _ everything  _ everything and just hope that they can escape the shitshow if they pretend it doesn’t exist.

“Squirt, listen to me. You don’t need to change, not one iota. You’re not  _ meant  _ to change how your brain works. Being autistic just means there’s a difference in how you perceive the world, how your neurons talk to each other and what pathways they take. The important part is that we decrease the amount of triggers in your area so that the risk of an incident is kept low at all times.”

He wants to believe those words so badly, but the main thing that comes to his mind is that he’s _weak,_ and that it’s so fucking unfair how skinny-and-frail-Steve was improved by an experimental drug almost _a century ago,_ and then a radioactive spider at a modern lab facility comes along and bites Peter, giving him all kinds of cool new powers but fucking _leaving him_ with the thing that’s devouring him from the inside. “Steve,” he whispers, making everyone lean in to hear him. He tries to ignore how his lip is beginning to wobble. “It fixed _him.”_

Peter tries not to look anyone in the eye, because he knows exactly what he’ll find there.  _ Pity.  _ Because that sentence sounds so sad even to him. Tony slings an arm around his shoulders to ground him. The added pressure is nice, and it dampens the intense sadness he suddenly feels.  _ Emotions coming on way too strong is  _ also  _ one of my many flaws,  _ he thinks bitterly. He leans his head against Mister Stark’s shoulder while picking at his nails. This meeting began sort of okay, and now it’s  _ tense.  _ He needs a distraction from that feeling, it’s too much to sit here and stew in it. Someone asks if he wants the lap weight or maybe the vest again, but he shrugs and replies that he’d rather fidget with his hands. No fucking  _ way  _ is he going to wear a sensory vest in front of  _ Captain America.  _

For whatever reason  _ (probably an accident)  _ Peter meets Bucky’s eyes. He seems to be thinking something over, and now  _ Peter’s  _ thinking that he’s probably going to get assassinated for being such a nuisance. James Buchanan Barnes,  _ sitting right there, _ reaches around himself and pulls out an honest-to-god  _ knife.  _ His movements are purposefully slow as to not startle anyone, and holds shows the serrated blade gleaming in the light. “This,” he says carefully, “this is my trusty Gerber MK II. I’m told I’ve had this on me since way back in ´66, and I never go anywhere without it.” He pauses, measuring his words. “I’m aware that we aren’t necessarily in a threatening or hostile situation at the moment, but keeping the knife on me and feeling its weight makes me feel calm.” Peter thinks that this must be some sort of crazy fever dream, or maybe he’s hit his head on something and is passed out somewhere right now? Because hearing the  _ Winter Soldier  _ talk about his comfort item seems too surreal to be true. 

With a smooth flick of the wrist, the knife’s handle is now facing Peter, with Bucky’s steady hand gripping the handle right by the wasp-waisted blade. He winces a bit, can’t help wondering what would happen if Bucky accidentally slit open his palm while turning it in his grip, despite knowing fully well that no one handles knives like this man. Even though most of the memories have been wiped, his body remembers exactly what to do. 

“You can hold it, it’s okay,” Bucky murmurs softly. Peter realizes what he’s doing;  _ he’s offering me comfort, something to stim with.  _ He’s never been particularly close to the man, too caught up in just staying tethered and from self destructing to prioritize socializing with the rest of the Avengers, honestly. The truth is that he’s  _ ashamed,  _ too. He’s ashamed of the scars he’s got on his body from years of injuries unintentionally caused by himself, afraid that they’ll think less of him now that Mister Stark’s primed them on what’s really going on with him. 

He knows that they’ve all thought of him as a bit of an oddball with all of the movie references that just keep spilling out of his mouth before he’s really thought them through and the nervous, buzzing energy he radiates. More than once, Clint’s asked him jokingly in passing how much coffee he’s had and if he’s even  _ old enough  _ to have coffee.  _ If he only knew that this is my baseline.  _

Peter blinks a few times in quick succession, getting himself out of his head and back to the gleaming knife in front of him. “Do you-,” he starts, not sure how to phrase what’s coming next. He tests his throat out by clearing it a bit.  _ It seems to cooperate better now. _ He takes a breath and tries to still his galloping heart, because if anyone’s going to understand, it’s  _ Bucky.  _ “I mean, has Mister Stark told you?”

Bucky and Steve look at each other with a bit of confusion, and then at Tony. “Yes..? We’ve- we have been sitting here  _ discussing _ the diagnosis and the ‘episodes,’ times you can’t speak, so I’m not sure what you mean?” Peter looks over at his mentor, not sure if Bucky  _ for some really foolish reason  _ believes that giving a superpowered, self destructive teen with dissociative tendencies a sharpened knife is a remotely good idea, or if he really doesn’t know about that part. The stiffness in Tony’s shoulders at Peter’s question tells him that he does  _ not,  _ in fact, know about the severity of the episodes.  _ He wants me to tell them on my own terms,  _ he realizes, and is so overwhelmed by immense  _ trust  _ for his mentor that he feels his throat closing up again.

Instead, he nudges Tony lightly in the side as a way to say  _ it’s okay, you tell them,  _ and it’s times like these that Peter wishes he somehow knew how to sign.  _ Maybe Clint could teach me sometime or something.  _

“Well, I guess now’s as good a time as any,” Tony says, and grasps Peter’s hand in a nice and tight grip. “We know all about how HYDRA detached your body from your mind and made you do things you didn’t want, Buckster. Now.”  _ Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze. _ “Imagine someone’s brain doing that to  _ itself  _ in stressful situations _ ,  _ effectively disconnecting their own mind and leaving the body just doing what it thinks it needs in order to release the built-up pressure and worry, and for the person to come back to themself. It’s called dissociation.” 

Peter can hear his own pulse in his ears, and desperately clenches his hands in time with the beat.  _ Squeeze-squeeze, squeeze-squeeze.  _ Tony goes on: “Petey here fidgets a lot, but it isn’t just because he wants to.” He meets Peter’s gaze, and strokes a thumb over his knuckles lovingly. “This isn’t to make you feel uncomfortable, Underoos, okay?” he murmurs to the kid, looking down quickly at where their hands are joined in his lap. Peter understands what he means, and nods back in a way that gives him the sign that it’s okay to call attention to it. “See these hands here, Cap? Sure, it’s cozy, but he  _ needs it.  _ You can both tell that he’s strung tight like a bow right now, and if I were to stop giving him sensory input in the form of tight squeezes, for example, there wouldn’t be enough to ground him.”

Mister Stark carefully guides one of his hands upward in Pete’s field of vision as to not startle him, and pauses right at his hairline. The kid squeezes his eyes shut instinctively, because he still feels so much  _ shame  _ thinking about the horror Tony must’ve felt, seeing him flopping around on the bathroom floor like a blood drenched fish. He’s trying his best not to shake as his hair is parted. What people might not understand is that it doesn’t matter that he can’t remember the episodes, he’s still so fucking  _ traumatized  _ by them. Sure, others see the carnage that he doesn’t, but for him it’s sitting at his desk doing homework one moment, only to suddenly be in his mentor’s arms on the cold tiles, scared and in  _ so much pain.  _ Even though the initial confusion is frightening, it’s nothing compared to the crushing despair, the  _ shame  _ that always follows once he comes back to himself fully.  _ I don’t want anyone to have to see me like that,  _ he knows that that is what it boils down to.  _ I don’t want to be afraid of myself all the time and have to fight to stay tethered.  _

The digit moving over his scalp is soothing, but he still finds it difficult to keep a few stray tears from escaping.  _ Damn it. I don’t want to cry.  _ He does his best to blink the moisture away, and focuses on his breathing instead.  _ Don’t hyperventilate. In, pause. Out. In, pause. Out. Repeat. _ “Look at that,” Mister Stark says fondly. “He’s doing breathing exercises in order to keep from panicking. You’re doing good, kid. I really should take a leaf from your book,” he praises. 

There’s something softer in their eyes now, and Peter thinks that the  _ real  _ reason the two men sitting across from him are heroes is because they aren’t burying him in difficult questions that he isn’t sure if he can answer. “Do you see this scar up here? It’s quite a nasty one, even for our spiderling. There’s not really a  _ good _ way to say this, I can’t ease you into it, so I’m just going to say it.” Tony pauses and looks down at their joined hands again, swallowing.  _ He’s probably looking for the courage to say it out loud, just as I had to when I told  _ him. “A couple of weeks ago, I got a distressed call from his aunt saying that he was dissociating. I got to the scene as fast as possible, and when I arrived he’d broken the sink with his  _ head.”  _

Peter’s sure that the planet has stopped spinning for a second or two. The only thing that exists is this moment and the  _ ugly truth  _ that’s now sprung out into the open. Again. The breath he’s taking gets stuck in his throat. All he can think about is  _ they know, they know, they fucking know,  _ and despite what Tony’s told him beforehand, that Bucky and Steve will do whatever they can to help him deal, he’s so terrified that they’ll somehow think he’s  _ less  _ now. Fuck.  _ I can’t get away from the fear.  _

It takes him a few moments, but there’s a  _ thonk, thonk, thonk  _ on his back and a burning sensation,  _ why is there a burning sensation?  _ and then he realizes that he’s stopped breathing. He makes an effort to suck in air again, and  _ god  _ does it burn.  _ At least I’m not bashing another hole into my skull.  _ Through his spluttering and general hacking, Peter can hear Steve asking if there’s anything the others can do to remove potential triggers, whether it’s in the area or something they’re doing  _ themselves,  _ and Tony gives them the rundown on weighted blankets and the sensory vest and all the  _ other  _ billion things needed to keep him from rocketing into the stratosphere. He just tries to regain his composure as much as possible. Interestingly enough, Peter notices, Bucky’s still got the hand with the weapon outstretched, and he doesn’t look like the new information regarding the kid has impacted his offer of lending him the knife.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Bucky says suddenly, after a long moment of silence on his part. “You’re wondering why the hell I would still let you anywhere near this serrated blade with what you just told us.” Peter nods minutely, because  _ yeah,  _ that’s exactly what’s going through his head right now. “I’m not going to sit here and say ‘I don’t look at you any differently than I did a few minutes ago.’ No,  _ we  _ won’t do that. That doesn’t mean anything until we’ve  _ proven  _ that it does.” The knife remains stretched out before the four of them in that same steady hand, until it goes up in the air with a  _ thwick  _ as Bucky flips his wrist, lets go, and then swiftly catches the Gerber by the blade with his other hand. It’s mesmerizing to watch, even though the moment lasts less than a second. 

“I don’t-,” Peter starts, but quickly shuts his mouth again. Because the thing is that he  _ does,  _ he does want to touch the knife. To hold it gently in his palm and feel the weight of the blade, maybe even caress the smooth handle for a bit. He bites his lip. He hasn’t spent time with the knife as Bucky has, but he sort of already understands why the man is so attached to it after all this time, when there surely have to be  _ more  _ lethal knives around nowadays or something. It’s so beautiful.  _ I don’t really know how this whole knife thing works, so I’m probably wrong. Maybe it’s a classic?  _

He hesitates for a moment more, but ends up reaching for the knife as if it’s going to bite him. The metal hand holding it still doesn’t move an inch, not until Peter has his own fingers around the shaft. It’s weighty, he notes. “What I like to do to ground myself,” Bucky says, “is twirling the knife, sometimes in the air like I showed, but also between my fingers. I don’t really recommend that for you though, since I like my blades sharp and you’re most likely kind of attached to your hand. Literally.” Tony snorts at that, while Steve starts berating him for going for the cheap joke in the context of this kind of  _ serious conversation.  _

Peter finds that he doesn’t mind it, and  _ (hallelujah!) _ says so. “It’s okay, Mister Rogers, I know what Mister Barnes means.” He takes a closer look at the blade. It’s absolutely spotless.  _ I can’t believe this is from 1966! He must have taken such great care of it if it looks like it hasn’t been used a day.  _

This gesture of faith and trust and  _ acceptance _ means a lot to him. Maybe it’s just a knife to him, but he tries to imagine himself in Bucky’s stead; lending one of his more well-loved comfort items to someone. It makes him feel a bit icky. “Ready?” Bucky asks as he holds up his hands. Peter throws the knife back to its owner, careful as to not accidentally slice himself as he does it. While it’s  _ thwick _ ing through the air one final time, Peter entertains the thought that people  _ could  _ actually want to stay close to him even after seeing what he’s struggling with. As expected, the hand catching it in the air does a final, fluid twirl with the Gerber, before sliding it back to its position at the back of Bucky’s tac belt. Peter decides he’s a little bit more open to the thought that maybe,  _ just maybe,  _ he isn’t a burden after all.

Mister Stark gives him a small smile as they head back up to their floor, linked at the elbows. “And to think that I’ve been trying to get you to see reason for weeks, when all it took was a god damn  _ knife.”  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thanks to @ALittleSpiderPrincess is in order, because they're the entire reason that I came up with the knife-stimming idea! God, how I wish I could actually tag people in the notes, but I guess not?????
> 
> If you enjoyed this (or even if you hated it), please let me know by leaving a comment below! Your comments and kudos are what I feed on, and encourages me to write more! Don't be afraid to drop me ideas for future parts, since that's literally what got me to write more <3


	2. Chapter 2

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**Author's Note:**

> A special thanks to @ALittleSpiderPrincess is in order, because they're the entire reason that I came up with the knife-stimming idea! God, how I wish I could actually tag people in the notes, but I guess not?????
> 
> If you enjoyed this (or even if you hated it), please let me know by leaving a comment below! Your comments and kudos are what I feed on, and encourages me to write more! Don't be afraid to drop me ideas for future parts, since that's literally what got me to write more <3


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